Flirting With Pete: A Novel

by Barbara Delinsky

  But Casey’s conscious self wasn’t far behind. Sitting there in the dark, she had the sudden understanding that her life had come together. Loose ends were connecting, needs were being met. She had resolved things in her mind between her parents, had found a special lover in Jordan, a blood relative in Meg, and an unexpected friend in Ruth. The townhouse was working for her. So was practicing solo. She had friends who loved her and colleagues who respected her. She had a garden that was an oasis in stormy times and pure bliss in calm ones.

  What are you afraid of? Jordan asked. What’s bothering you most?

  Being alone, she had answered without pause.

  It struck her now, though, that she wasn’t alone. If she hadn’t seen that before, the last few days had shown it to her. She was surrounded by people she cared about deeply and who cared deeply about her. She had a very rich life.

  Alone? Alone was a term that she had come to use simply because she’d grown up in a single-parent home. But she had never been alone. Not really. Had she been her own client, she might have suggested— gently and nonconfrontationally— that she had used “alone” as an excuse for misbehavior, anger, even self-pity.

  She didn’t feel any of those things now. Sitting here with Caroline and Jordan, she felt peaceful. Anger was gone. Bitterness was gone. So was fear.

  Her mother would say she had finally grown up. And perhaps that was what Caroline had been waiting for, why she had hung on these three long years, living a life that was no life at all. She had been waiting for Casey to find that inner peace on her own, had given her time and space, which was very much the way Caroline had raised her. Casey had been a strong-willed child. She’d had a mind of her own, had needed to make her own mistakes and find her own answers. Now she had. Caroline had given her the time to do that. It was a final gift.

  Jordan kissed the top of her head. “I’ll keep the bed warm,” he said, startlingly attuned to her thoughts and needs. “Call me if you want me.”

  Casey choked up. She suspected the sudden swell of emotion had as much to do with her feelings for him as with what she had to do now. Unable to speak, she nodded silently. Her heart was full as she watched him leave the room.

  Eyes filled with tears, she returned to Caroline. “He’s something, isn’t he?” she managed to ask through a smile. Then, “See?” she teased. “You can’t argue. If he were one of my earlier guys, you’d be telling me that I haven’t known him very long and that I should be cautious. But he’s a keeper, don’t you think?”

  She brought Caroline’s hand to her mouth, kissed it, and tucked it under her chin. Her throat ached with emotion, but she forced words out. They couldn’t wait. It was time.

  “Mom?” she whispered. “I need you to listen to what I have to say. This is really important.” She paused to wipe at the tears that trickled down her cheek. In the time it took to sniff back others, she felt a tiny remnant of fear. Once the words were out, she couldn’t take them back. But this was the right thing to do. She knew it in her heart.

  “It’s okay, Mom,” she said ever so gently. “You can let go. I’m okay. I really am okay. You can let go now. You can leave.”

  Hugging Caroline’s hand, she cried softly. But there was more to be said. She sniffled again and recomposed herself. “I want you to be happy. I don’t want you to suffer more than you have to. You’ve fought so hard, but you’re tired, and I can’t fault you for that. This has gone on too long. Let’s make it a good death.” Her voice rose to a wail on the last, and again she wept softly. It was another minute before she managed to continue, her voice hoarse. “If you’ve prolonged this for my sake, I’m sorry.” She took a broken breath. “No. Actually, I’m not sorry. Three years ago, I wasn’t ready. But I am now. You made it easier.” She went on more brightly. “I’m glad you met Jordan. He’s the one, Mom. I really think he is. Have you ever heard me say that before? No, you haven’t. But he’s only one of the things that’s right with my life.” She gave a small, mildly hysterical laugh. “I mean, did I think that things were wrong with my life? No. But now that the pieces are all falling into place, things are so right.” Her voice wavered, tears starting again. “I want things to… to be right for you, too. I want you peaceful. You deserve that. I love you so much.”

  Sobbing quietly, she pulled a tissue from the box on the nightstand and pressed it to her nose. She didn’t immediately speak when she regained control this time. Rather, she noticed Angus. No longer curled in a ball, he was sitting up now, large green eyes on Caroline. Her own eyes followed. Caroline was breathing more easily.

  Her first thought was that she was imagining it. So she listened with a more objective ear. It gave her the same hopeful report.

  Casey had no delusions. Gone were visions of Caroline recovering. Reality had quenched that hope. A new one had arisen, though. It had to do with dying in peace.

  Convinced from this quieter breathing that she was saying the things Caroline needed to hear, Casey went on. Her voice was nasal now, thick with tears. “You were an incredible mother. I think I knew that deep down, even when I hated you. But you always did the right thing, Mom, even when that meant standing back and letting me mess up and then make amends. Even now. You hung on for me. I think you knew Connie died. You took a turn for the worse then. Still you hung on. But it’s okay,” her voice trembled, rose, broke. “It’s… okay to go, to let… go.”

  Crying again, rocking back and forth ever so slightly, she pressed Caroline’s hand hard to her mouth. She didn’t try to stop the tears. This was the last physical support her mother would ever give her, and she took it greedily. The scent of eucalyptus was fading. She breathed the last of it in.

  In time the weeping ebbed. Gently, she stroked Caroline’s forehead, her cheek, her hair. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m okay. I mean, you can never be dead as long as I’m around. I’m you in so many ways. I never saw it. Never wanted to see it. I wanted to be independent and do things my way, but my way was pretty often your way. Especially lately.” She actually smiled. “You’ll always be with me, Mom. Kind of like Jordan’s perennials. Every year, something’ll bloom in my life to remind me of you. It’ll always be different, never the same, but it’ll be good. Love lasts.”

  Having said that, Casey was content. Suddenly exhausted, she lay down with Caroline, held her close, kept her warm, and put her ear to her mother’s heart until there was no beat left to hear.

  Epilogue

  Summer in the garden was a time of ripening. The birches filled out, the hemlocks grew taller, maple and oak leaves deepened to a richer green, junipers to a sea green-blue. Less chirpy now that the mating season was done, the birds were raising their young. As the weeks passed, those fledglings joined their parents pecking at seeds in the feeder. Bees hovered over the rhododendron, and when those blooms passed, the gardenias, and when those passed, the hydrangea. Butterflies flitted into the garden from time to time, beautiful to see, too quickly gone.

  Casey’s practice thrived— just seemed to proliferate right along with Jordan’s impatiens. She didn’t know if it was her own reputation catching on, word passed on the sly by the likes of Emmett Walsh, or simply the cachet of having an office on Beacon Hill. But her schedule filled. After a month in Connie’s office, she felt she had been there forever. Apparently, so did Angus. Once he ventured from the master bedroom, he became her shadow. Oh, he was stealthy about it at first, keeping his distance, moving with silent dignity. But by the time the hostas in the garden had raised elegant purple spikes, he was curling right up to her thigh during client sessions. If he was indeed the spirit of Connie, she couldn’t complain.

  Nor could she complain about Jordan. He helped her bury Caroline and live through the grief, and he kept her garden growing, always with a new bloom to succeed one that withered as summer progressed. Just as ferns grew to replace trillium, petunias took the place of sweet william, periwinkle spread, and lupine bloomed regal and tall, so Casey’s relationship with Jordan evolved
. She didn’t rush it. After having been impulsive for much of her life, she needed time. With her mother gone now, and her father before that, she was the adult in the family. Loving Jordan had been a sudden thing, come on her at a precarious time. She wanted her life to settle and see if that love would take root.

  Jordan could not have been more attuned to her needs. In life, as in lovemaking, his timing was faultless. He knew when to introduce her to his art, and when to introduce her to his friends. He knew when to take her to plant flowers at Caroline’s grave, when to suggest that they go to Rockport to visit with Ruth, and when to drive her to Amherst to meet a thirteen-year-old boy with bright red hair.

  Joey Battle. Casey knew him on sight. He was living with a married couple, friends of Jordan’s, and attending a small private school that did as much nurturing of the soul as the mind. Jordan picked up the tab.

  “Well, I couldn’t let him stay in Walker,” he argued, seeming embarrassed when Casey was awed by what he had done. “I didn’t help Jenny when I should have. I wasn’t making the same mistake twice.”

  Casey loved him all the more for that. And then, there was even more to love him for. Come August, he drove her up to spend time with his parents in Walker. His mother had been to Boston several times prior to that, and she and Casey had grown close, but this was the first time in a while that Jordan had seen his father. He swore he wouldn’t have had the courage to go if Casey hadn’t been with him, and she almost believed him. His father intimidated him— she could see it the instant they came together.

  Jordan was a strong man. He knew who he was and what he wanted in life. Yet his father had the power to make him grow silent, evade questions, be defensive. That certainly didn’t weaken him in Casey’s eyes. Even if she hadn’t known by profession what he was feeling, she would have identified with it personally. She had been there. She was still there, wanting her parents’ approval, needing to think she was making them proud. Parents held a remarkable power over their children. It didn’t matter how old those children grew, or how distant in their everyday lives. They received messages from their parents from the moment of birth. Those messages were nearly as deeply etched on the psyche as hair, eyes, and height in the genes.

  Jordan did grow more confident as the visit progressed, particularly when his sisters and their families arrived. They were delighted to see him and doted on Casey. For Casey, who had never known family beyond Caroline, it was an exciting day.

  But the excitement wasn’t done. The morning after that family gathering, Jordan drove her yet another hour north to a quiet, tidy little town. After passing through a modest town center, they turned onto a narrow, tree-lined side street and pulled up at a small frame house that was yellow with mossy green shutters and was surrounded by hemlocks and pines, junipers and yews, and, in gently defined beds, many of the same flowers Casey had on Beacon Hill. A pebbled front walk cut through those beds. It led to three wooden steps and a wraparound porch. A pair of rocking chairs sat on the porch. An elderly woman rocked in one.

  Casey shot Jordan a quizzical look, but he didn’t say a word. Rather, he rounded the Jeep, took her hand, and led her up the walk.

  The woman on the porch stopped rocking. She had white hair and a wrinkled face, wore a flowered dress and a white apron, and looked nearly as puzzled as Casey. But she seemed familiar, oh so familiar.

  Casey’s heart began to race.

  The woman didn’t take her eyes off her. Those eyes were blue, Casey saw as she climbed the steps with Jordan— faded with age, but blue nonetheless. Blue eyes, white hair that might have had a reddish tint in her youth, a gentle smile that might actually have been loving, if Casey had been prone to fancy— which, of course, she was.

  The woman extended a trembling hand to Casey, at the same time that Jordan said softly, “This is Mary Blinn Unger. Your grandmother. Age ninety-six.”

  *

  Fall in the garden was glorious as only falls in New England could be. The maple turned orange, the birches yellow, the oak red. Black-eyed Susans multiplied, asters opened with splashes of pink, and viburnum produced berries. The vines that wove through the pergola, up the brick walls, and against the potting shed turned into tapestries of oranges, reds, and browns.

  Slender in a stunning white gown, with a garland of ivy in her hair, Casey walked from the house, up the stone path, to the wooded spot where Jordan stood with the minister. Brianna and Joy had preceded her as her bridesmaids, as had Meg as her maid of honor, looking absolutely beautiful now with naturally red hair, artfully groomed.

  Casey walked alone, but she wasn’t alone in any sense of the word. Friends and family-to-be filled the garden on both sides. Caroline’s spirit was as strong as if she were right there at the head of the walk. Likewise, Connie. His office would never be filled, his garden flourishing, and his cat adoring of Casey if he didn’t approve of this match.

  Jordan waited, so handsome that it took her breath, so focused on her and only her that it brought tears to her eyes. There were truly times when, like Jenny with her Pete, Casey wondered if he was real. She didn’t need to pinch herself to be sure, though. All she had to do was to turn her head, look around, call his name, and he was there.

  *

  Snow fell before the end of November. It coated the few leaves that still clung to the trees, blanketed evergreens that had already shrunk into themselves for the winter, and carpeted the garden path. Much as Casey loved spending time outside, she was ready for the change. Winter meant staying indoors, with a blazing fire, hot mulled cider, and Jordan. It was a time for settling in as husband and wife, and seeing to the fine points of merging their lives.

  Jordan sold his condo, moved his office to one of the spare bedrooms and his studio to the cupola, and tutored Casey in critiquing his work. Casey sold her condo, gave Meg as much furniture as her apartment would hold, sold the rest, and opened her first ever joint bank account.

  By the time snowdrops had pushed their pristine white heads from the thawing ground, and the crocuses opened petals of yellow, purple, and pink, it was late March, and Casey was showing.

  By the time June arrived with its dogwood blossoms, its wisteria, and the leafing out of the maple, birches, and oak, she was large, indeed.

  By the time she gave birth in early August, the garden was as fertile and rich as she felt herself.

  That Casey’s life took on the rhythm of the garden was only fitting. Both of her parents had loved flowers and trees, as did her husband. And Casey herself? The garden grounded her. It kept her head clear and her mind focused on what was real and what was not. It gave her hope in moments of worry, and ease in moments of stress. It bore witness to the perennial nature of birth.

  When their daughter celebrated her first birthday there among the flowers on a sunny summer day the following August, she wore a delicate wreath of daisies in her baby-soft strawberry blond hair, ate cake with chocolate frosting and ice cream with a wooden spoon, and fell on her face toddling after a butterfly.

  Her father scooped her up and nuzzled her stomach as he carried her to Casey, who kissed the boo-boo until she was laughing again.

  Life was good.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Epilogue